


It's Lonely Out in Space

by bruisedfingertips



Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Attempt at Humor, Depression, Other, Survival, pre-rescue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-04 08:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5327717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisedfingertips/pseuds/bruisedfingertips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark Watney's personal journal entries while on Mars, set to self-detonate if he doesn't recover them.  NASA really shouldn't read this, and neither should you.  Seriously.  Who reads other people's journals? </p>
<p>My take on the log entries and what was happening with Watney on an emotional level.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sol 6-14

Journal Entry: Sol 6 

I’m alone. Fuck.  I am so alone. 

I was told space was lonely.  But now I’m the sole inhabitant of a fucking planet.  I guess I should be glad.  I mean at least I’m not dead. Yet.  When I imagined my body becoming dust and returning to the stars, this is _not_ what I had in mind.

I’m trying to put on a brave face here.  Figure shit out.  Keep one step ahead of the problem and so on.  NASA trained us for catastrophes, yet no one expected anyone to leave a damn astronaut on this red ball up in space.  I probably can’t blame them.  And I’m sure the Ares 3 crew thought I was dead.  I woke up with my system going haywire.  They probably lost my signal around the time that fucking satellite dish took me out. And that lost all my connection to the little blue planet I usually call home 225 million kilometers from here.

Which leads me back to my initial point: I am very fucking alone.

I’ve already attempted to write down a log entry.  You know, for NASA.  When someone eventually discovers that I was alive after what happened today. But I couldn’t. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe. I just stared at the computer keyboard. I mean, any normal human being would be panicking and crumbling under the weight of everything going on today. And just because I’ve trained half my life for instances like this didn’t really prepare me for that moment. The fact I need to record what happened afterwards but before I really die.  So this is me taking a step back.  This is my journal, and that’s my log.  I guess I can set up something to dump this data if I don’t access it after a certain period of time.  So NASA… When they find me… Will find _that_ and not _this._

 _This_ being me panicking and having a potentially disastrous mental and emotional breakdown.  But cut me some slack.  I’m the first man to ever be on a planet completely alone.  That has to have some credit for my man-tears. 

But like one of the characters from one of my favorite tv shows in high school said:

“What do we say to the God of Death?”

 _“Not today.”_  

 

Journal Entry: Sol 7

I’m exhausted.  But there’s a chance I can get to the Ares 4 site when they arrive four years from now. Four years.  Stiff upper lip, Watney ol’ boy.  

 

Journal Entry: Sol 8 

It’s too quiet here.  I had gotten used to talking to my crew over the comms.  You sure as hell can’t hear anything in space, but trust me, our team rarely has a dull moment when we’re all connected through the comm system. Lewis has even threatened to shut mine off before.  God, I’d give anything for _that_ to be the reason I can’t fucking talk to anyone.  I could just bug them when I got back to the HAB after our EVAs. 

I’ve only been here on my own for two days.  How the hell am I supposed to make it in this silence for four years?

 

Journal Entry: Sol 10  

I’ve been thinking about my food dilemma.  I have enough rations, sure, but I’m going to likely need more. I’m a big boy! I don’t want to be skin and bone by the time Ares 4 gets here. 

Quite a few people have questions about where all the funds NASA has is going towards. I once saw a youtube video about washing your hair in 0-G and this one idiot was upset about the astronaut using towels. Fucking towels. Don’t you know anything?

Don’t you know a towel is the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have?

Anyway. One of the research programs a lot of people don’t seem to get is our botany program.  So they look at me funny when I say something like “yeah I’m a botanist and an astronaut.”  They can understand the engineer part.  Shit needs maintained.  But plants?  In space?  They don’t get it.  But hey, whatever.  Because maybe my particular skillset will save my sorry space ass.  If only I didn’t just have grass and fern seeds. Maybe I can make a tea. Grass tea.  Fern tea. 

Maybe I’ll come up with Mars’ first hallucinogenic. 

 

Journal Entry: Sol 14 

Suck it, condescending youtube assholes! 

I found peas, beans, and potatoes.  My botany skills will produce more food.  Try doing _that_ from the dark room in your mom’s basement. 

This is one of the best things to have discovered.  I forgot we were going to celebrate Thanksgiving while here. Otherwise I doubt I’d have these potatoes. 

Shit. Thanksgiving.  By now my parents have probably heard I’m dead. It’s been over a week. Eight days.  So now their son is dead just before the holidays.  Poor mom.  If I could tell anyone I was alive… Okay. Wait.  I’d tell _Hermes_ first. On the off-chance they can make a U-turn.  But I’d tell my parents before I even bothered to talk to anyone at NASA.  Sure, they’d have to relay my message, but that’s not the point.  I want my mom to know I’m okay.  And my old man, as tough as he seems, I know he’s probably just trying to be that strong anchor for my mom…  I wish I could tell them.  And if I don’t make it back I wish they could just know that I’m doing what I love.

Yeah, I don’t really love getting gutted by a flying saucer.  Uh, satellite.  Or getting marooned on a barren planet.  But they’ve always known how much I wanted this.  I’ve wanted to travel to space since before I can really remember.  It was always either an astronaut or a DJ.  And I’m pretty sure my parents appreciated the educational programs in this one more. Even if my job entailed strapping myself to a rocket and blasting off through the atmosphere.  My parents always supported me though.  No matter how bizarre my dream.  When I got accepted to the astronaut program they were proud. But when I told them I was going to Mars with Ares 3, I’m pretty damn sure my mom could have burst my eardrums with how loud her excited squeal was.  It had been louder than even mine.  

Mom, Dad…  I love you guys. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first published fic, so comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I hope to continue this further. If I'm brave I'll write them for the whole book.
> 
> Title of fic from "Rocket Man (I Think It's Going To Be A Long Long Time)" by Elton John.


	2. Sol 15-30

Journal Entry: Sol 15

While using my crewmates gear for an edge for my garden I began to realize how much stuff they’d left behind. Certainly we never really get to take stuff back with us, unless it’s for an experiment.  Like Vogel’s dirt collection.  We have to be really picky when we select things to bring with us. Personal items likely won’t return to earth with us.  But man, they left so much. I guess when we were all trying to bug out before the storm we weren’t thinking about how much we’ve left here. 

It’s begun to make me wonder how much stuff humans are actually leaving here on Mars.  We’ve sent probes and rovers for unmanned missions, fully knowing they wouldn’t be coming home.  We’ve sent Ares one, two, and three.  That’s a lot of gear, if you think about it, left at each of these sites.  Up until now this planet was inhabited by robots. Humans were only temporary guests. I wonder if that makes me a long-term visitor or an immigrant. 

Mark Watney.  Immigrant to Mars. 

Maybe I’ll just stick with the “long-term visitor” one. I don’t really want to be here permanently. 

  

Journal Entry: Sol 16 

Happy Thanksgiving. 

  

Journal Entry: Sol 22

 Seeing all my work begin to actually look like something is pretty exciting.  Keeping busy keeps my mind off of things.  I like keeping my mind off of things.  I’m already strung pretty tightly trying to assure that everything functions properly and that I begin to grow enough food to get me to Sol 1412 when Ares 4 arrives. The busywork of working my Martian soil is just enough, though, to let my mind go temporarily blank.

My hands dirty and buried in soil somehow shuts off the part of my brain that likes to overthink things too much.

One of my childhood idols, a Canadian astronaut named Chris Hadfield said something I always tried to take to heart: “Sweat the small stuff. Without letting anyone see you sweat.” I always thought that was an interesting thing to say, especially because people usually say “ _Don’t_ sweat the small stuff.”  I think he’s right.  In space, a lot of shit can go wrong.  We do have to keep watch and make sure everything is in order. Even the smallest of minute details, we’re sweating over them.  And well, here on Mars, there’s no one to see me sweating like a stuck pig.

Speaking of sweat, I just realized I’m going to run out of deodorant.  And my no-rinse sponge bath soap.  Even if I raid my crewmates stuff, I’m going to run out.  Fuck.  By the time Ares 4 arrives, I definitely won’t smell human.  Wait, maybe I’ll smell _too_ human and look like that “Creature on the Wing” from that one classic Twilight episode.

Anyway, while looking through my crewmates gear I found a few of their personal drives.  There’s books, medical essays, movies and tv, and music. Hopefully they have good taste, because this is all I get for entertainment for the next four years. (Insert prolonged and dramatic sigh here.) 

I found a complete collection of Beatles music in Johanssen’s files.  I shouldn’t be so surprised that she has decent taste.  It makes me a little nostalgic though.  My dad used to listen to a lot of them.  I would sing along to “Yellow Submarine” before I realized that they were referring to drugs.  But hey, it’s still a great song. 

I should come up a parody.

_“So we rocketed to Mars_  
_Till we found the red planet._  
_And we lived for six sols_  
_In our little HAB_

_I live alone in a little HAB_  
_A little HAB, a little HAB_  
_I live alone in a little HAB_  
_A little HAB, a little HAB_  
  
_And my friends are all on Hermes_  
_Many more of them live on Earth_  
_And now I am alone”_

Okay, that was really bad.  But no one is here to see me sweat it. 

 

 

Journal Entry: Sol 25

 

I’m tired.  I did a lot of calculations today.  Too many. 

“We Can Work It Out” has been on repeat since I got up this morning.   

Bless you, Johanssen. 

 

Journal Entry: Sol 26

Like I said yesterday: too many calculations. So I focused on the manual labor instead of the mental labor today.  Yeah, water is still and issue, but I’ll figure it out in due time. In the mean time, I brought in a ton more dirt.  Man, if only my mom could see me now.  “Wipe off your shoes, Mark! You’re tracking in dirt!” She’d have hollered at me.  Well mom, now my life depends on me bringing in as much dirt and water as I can. 

I might have overdone it yesterday. I wore myself tired of the Beatles.  So I found Lewis’s data-stick.  I’ve always thought Lewis was a good person, but now I’m questioning that opinion.  She only has stuff from the 70’s.  What the hell, Lewis?

 

Journal Entry: Sol 30

More calculations today.  Boy am I glad I had a few semesters of chemistry amongst the many courses I took for botany.  I have figured out how to get the water I need for my garden and things are looking up.  Water + dirt + potatoes = Me alive longer.  I like that calculation.  But just because I have a _calculation_ doesn’t mean I know how to make the reaction.  Well, water is simple.  Two hydrogen and one oxygen.  How I separate my hydrogen is what’s causing me problems.  I’ll figure it out.  I have to. I literally have no other choice.

In other news, _Three’s Company_ replaced Chrissy with Cindy.   I didn’t expect to be getting wrapped up in this show, but damn it, I am.  I get why Chrissy had to move back to Fresno to take care of her sick mother, but seriously, this was a disappointment. Cindy is her cousin or something…  And I guess she’s okay.  But it’s just not the same.  You know how some characters just really balance each other out?  Even with all the comedic drama going on, the original trio just… Man, they just really were compelling together.  I’m gonna miss that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed playing around in this chapter, so I hope you guys enjoy it. Also please forgive my terrible attempt at writing Mark's parody. 
> 
> Btw, this fic likely doesn't make a whole lot of sense if you haven't read the book or at least seen the movie. I don't intend it to be a standalone thing. It's really reliant on the other information found in the book. 
> 
> If you're interested, you can find me over @ http://cyborgragnarok.tumblr.com/


	3. Sol 32-37

Journal Entry: Sol 32 

I have a plan, but it just may kill me. I’ve weighed the risks and… Oh fuck it.  It’s what I need to do.  So I’ll just do it.

 I’ve been thinking a lot lately over the past few days over the “Race to Mars.” Like why on Earth (pun intended) did we as the human race decide that Mars was the next best thing? I remember in high school hearing about a couple agencies funded by independent contractors making plans to go to Mars.  Hell, I even signed up for one, hoping to be chosen as an astronaut candidate.  It was Mars One.  They actually weren’t planning on a round trip.  They were going to fucking _colonize_ this damn planet. 

After being here a few weeks, I can tell you that that is the Worst Idea Ever.  I really doubt this is the kind of place to raise a family.  ( _“Mars ain't the kind of place to raise your kids / In fact it's cold as hell / And there's no one there to raise them if you did / And all this science I don't understand / It's just my job five days a week /  
A rocket man, a rocket man.”_ – Wise words from Elton John.)

 Sure, it might be a different experience if I was here with more people. I was supposed to have been here for a month with my crew.  I really would have been here till about Sol… Yesterday? 

Wow.  If the mission hadn’t been aborted, I would have been going home TODAY.

Fuck you, Mars.

 

Journal Entry: Sol 33 

I’ve already documented what I’m about to do with the hydrazine and fuel reaction chamber.  I want NASA to at least know I was alive.  Yeah, letting them know what dumb shit I did that blew me up isn’t exactly my brightest moment, but hey… Learn from your mistakes? Or rather, let someone with more degrees and intelligence learn from your mistakes.  Even if you don’t live to see the aftermath someone benefits, right?

But if I blow up the HAB by mistake I’ve decided I really don’t want to see the chaos. 

 

Journal Entry: Sol 33 (2)

Success!  And I’m not dead!  Sure, I had to start a fire in the HAB…  And I basically have concentrated rocket fuel here…  BUT I did it and I’m alive and all my science-ing is paying off.  I’m rather proud of myself. 

Looks at me, Mars One, and suck it! You didn’t even bother with my application, but now I’m a successful astronaut on Mars! (Okay, yeah, maybe “successful” is taking it a bit too far considering I’m stranded here.  But SUCK IT.) 

 

Journal Entry: Sol 34

 Well, I’m not dead, but I am exhausted. I think I’m worn down from stress. But I won’t document that for NASA. I’m still wearing my extra layers, just in case I somehow get in too much contact with the hydrazine. The humidity level is raised to a ridiculous level and at 30°C I’m sweating like mad. 

The HAB still smelt like shit even before I started this process, and now I’ve added my own sweaty stench and the ammonia from the hydrazine.  Somehow despite using an oxygen mask being fed canned air, I’m still completely capable of smelling the delectable blended smell of shit, ammonia, and sweat. What a refreshing smell in the morning!

Most astronauts know exactly what I mean when I talk about how sweaty it gets inside in an EVA suit.  You’re closing your body off and the air circulating in the suit isn’t doing much help if your body is sweating and raising the humidity level inside an already clammy suit.  It’s like becoming your own terrarium. 

Here in the HAB that’s almost exactly what I’m doing; a sealed environment that I’m hoping to make ideal for the growth of my plants.  I’m basically the lawn ornament in here.  A very sweaty Martian lawn gnome.

Half the time I can’t tell if it’s me or the gradual humidity building up.  I feel sticky and my clothes are clinging to me.  And the extra protective layers aren’t helping.  I want to take them off but considering all the other stupid shit I’m doing right now, I might as well try to be a _little_ safe.  I can’t even tell if I’m sweating from the anxious stress of potentially blowing myself up, the new HAB conditions, or a terrible combination of both.

Both. It’s probably both.  

I need to quit stressing about it. So far it’s going really well. It’s exciting seeing all my hard work paying off.  The water reclaimer has already been filled once!  Actually, once I get all this in perspective, I realize how good I feel about that. 

I am one smart cookie. 

 

Journal Entry: Sol 36

I can’t believe how well this is going!

 

Journal Entry: Sol 37

I SPOKE TOO FUCKING SOON.

I’ve been overly confident when fucking around with chemistry and I made a few mistakes.  Only a few potentially devastating and fatal mistakes.  I already explained all the science (or not-so-science-but-Watney-fucking-up) in my log for NASA. 

 I’m actually really frustrated with myself. I should have known the hydrazine wasn’t all being used before entering the HAB’s atmosphere. I really should have been able to figure this out sooner.  I should be glad I caught it when I did, but it might already be too late considering I’ve now turned the HAB into a bomb. 

Seriously. C’mon Watney!  Get your shit together! I’ve been so excited about the water that I hadn’t caught on to the mistake.  I need to be more cautious; especially when playing with fire in my home.

 Hiding out in the rover isn’t ideal. I’m not breathing in the hydrazine and potentially causing a static-charged mega-bomb, but I’m also not there to check on my plants or make sure other things aren’t making deadly sparks.

 Which brings me around to thinking about if the HAB actually does blow while I’m out here, hopefully at a safe distance, I’m left without my water reclaimer, my oxygen filters, my gear, my rations, and my POTATOES.

 If the HAB blows I’ll lose everything.

 

Journal Entry: Sol 37 (2)

1) Sleeping in an EVA suit is nearly impossible and highly uncomfortable.  2) I wouldn’t really know that for a fact because despite my attempt at some sleep, I can’t. My mind is racing and I know I’m on the verge of panic.

Normally I’d just go for a walk to let my head clear. That isn’t an option here. So I’m stuck in my rover. I’m sweating in my suit. I’m pretty uncomfortable and my heart is racing.  At least in the HAB I can pace. 

Fuck me.  The HAB.  _My home_.  I need to figure out a solution.  And fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The opinions expressed (by Mark Watney) do not reflect those of the author (me). I'm actually thrilled at the idea of "colonizing" Mars and am a huge supporter of the efforts to move in this direction done by various organizations such as NASA and Mars One.  
> 2) Considering that no other organizations besides NASA, CNSA, ESA, etc, are ever mentioned (as far as I know) in the canon, I'm going to assume that Mars One unfortunately did not succeed in making it to Mars. Otherwise by 2035 Mark would have had neighbors that had been living on the planet since 2027.  
> 3) I actually highly recommend people check out Mars One if they haven't already. It's a really neat organization and I've been following their news since '13. http://www.mars-one.com/  
> 4) NASA announced in September that they had discovered water (actual water !!!) on Mars. I kind of wonder what Mark would do if he had known this. (Or Weir, at the time of writing.)  
> 5) Feel free to find me over on tumblr @ http://cyborgragnarok.tumblr.com/ where I'd love to talk to folks about this stupid martian and his beloved crew.  
> 6) Thanks for reading! I appreciate you! I hope you've having a good *insert local time here*! I love getting comments and feedback, so feel free to feed the muse.  
> 7) If you want a funny mental image just think of the "MY CABBAGES!" dude from Avatar: The Last Airbender but it's Mark Watney screaming "MY POTATOES!!" I might need to make an edit of this or something...  
> 8) Okay I'm done. I think. Jeez. My notes are going to be longer than my chapter.


	4. Sol 38-41

Journal Entry: Sol 38

I’ve come up with a plan to get rid of the excess hydrogen in the Hab.  Again, it’s a rather dangerous plan.  I could potentially kill myself, or my dirt.  I think I’m actually more concerned about the dirt than me.  I’ve known since Sol 6 that there’s a high chance that I could just fucking die.  But the work I’ve put in has given me a chance (a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless). If I kill my soil’s bacteria I kill off whatever chance for food I have going right now. Which nearly puts me back to the start. I don’t like those prospects but I currently don’t have any other options. 

I’d rather die in some fiery explosion than starve to death though. 

 

Journal Entry: Sol 38 (2)

Does Lewis not know what generation she was born into? I mean, I have no problem with listening to the “classics” but disco isn’t _classic_ in any sense of the word. I’m pretty sure the people who were into this stuff when it was “popular” were cringing at their photographs and records not even a decade later. 

There’s nothing attractive about slim-fitted bell-bottom suit pants.

 

Journal Entry: Sol 39

I discovered a way to keep my soil from dying.  Well, more like remembered something from my textbooks.  It makes sense and it should work.  I’ll have to lower the oxygen and the temperature to minimal life support to keep the bacteria alive and move my potato sprouts to a rover but this is looking a bit better than it did before.  I’m not thrilled but it’s better than what I had come up with yesterday, which was pretty much nothing. 

I feel like no matter what I do, or how smart I try to be, it always comes down to whether or not I’m willing to do the most dumb thing, which also happens to be the only thing available to do.  Days like theses almost make me glad I don’t have contact with NASA.  The scientists back on earth would be having fits over my plan.

 

Journal Entry: Sol 40

I’m not going to say that was the worst situation ever because I don’t have any wood to knock on. 

I made the Big Bang that I’ve been hoping to avoid since the beginning.  I don’t even recall how it really happened, but it scared the shit out of me. Okay, I didn’t really shit myself, but I was damn close to doing so.  It’s a goddamn miracle I wasn’t seriously hurt by being blasted across the fucking room.  Looking back, I’m sure I looked like Tony Stark in his lab testing out the new suits when a suit shoots him across the room and sets shit on fire.  I might have even looked cool if I wasn’t inhaling nitrogen and ready to fight off a panic attack.  Explosions are cool to look at if you’re not being tossed by one or all your gear is potentially being exploded!

So I got rid of a bunch of hydrogen, but at what cost?  I don’t know yet.  For now, I’m back in the rover.  I’ve got food and music (NO DISCO.) so I’ll be okay for the night.  I’m worried about tomorrow, though.  My mom used to tell me to not worry about tomorrow until tomorrow is today. On nights like this I can’t help it though.  And it’s especially on nights like this that I wish I could talk to her.  She probably wouldn’t be much help in figuring all this stuff out, but she’s my mom.  She’s that person I always went to for a skinned knee or a broken heart.  Right now I think my whole body could use some mending. 

And some chicken noodle soup.  Cliché, I know, but you haven’t lived until you’ve had my mom’s chicken noodle soup.

 

Journal Entry: Sol 41

By the time I leave Mars (if I ever fucking leave), everything here at Acidalia Planitia will have either been broken, broken and somewhat repaired, hacked, or jimmied.  If NASA ever supposed they could use this stuff again, it’ll be entirely unlikely once I’m through with it.  It’s not like I mean to mess with everything.  Some stuff just holds more value to me and my goals if I recycle ridiculously expensive EVA suits made my NASA.  (But really, they don’t fit me, and even if there were Martians here on Mars, I doubt that earth’s technology in space suits would hold any appeal to them as a trade currency.  And at this point I’m past the point of thinking that there’s anyone else here.  This is the most forsaken planet in this galaxy and the next.)

No thanks to my misadventure with chemistry yesterday, the Hab is intact, all systems are nominal, and HOLY SHIT my bacteria is still alive. 

And once again, and this really should be no surprise after all of this, I think the explosion was caused by my own stupidity and lack of attention to detail.  John Wooden, a UCLA basketball coach, said “It’s the little details that are vital.  Little things make big things happen.”  And fuck, he wasn’t wrong.  Something big happened in the Hab yesterday because I didn’t pay attention to the small things.  Like my medical oxygen mask,  I should have realized the seal wasn’t perfect and that I was leaking all that O2 into the Hab’s air. But on top of that, I hadn’t realized I wasn’t using all the oxygen I was inhaling.  That’s basic biology that nearly freshman in college has to be aware of.  And that is what almost killed me. 

After all of this I feel pretty dumb.  For fuck’s sake, I’m a NASA astronaut.  I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have let me go through training _and_ be picked for the Ares missions if they thought I was stupid.  Maybe I’ve over-exhausting myself?  Maybe I’m overthinking the wrong things?  I can’t chalk this up to anyone but me.  I’m to blame for these incidents; I have to figure them out. I have to solve the problems and I have to make sure I don’t make repeats. 

Now that I’ve thoroughly lectured myself, I’m going to enjoy a full meal and kick back with some of _The Dukes of Hazzard_.  Hopefully I can unload some stress.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update! I'm (finally) done with finals and looking forward to a (somewhat) relaxing winter break. Hopefully I'll get a more regular update schedule in the coming weeks. 
> 
> If you're interested, you can find me over @ http://cyborgragnarok.tumblr.com/ I love hearing from readers through comments or tumblr! Feel free to send me your ideas/thoughts on Mark's mentality through the book or the movie.


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